Breaking Out
by Galadriadhar
Summary: I used to work for Cityworks. It's... not the most romantic, or comedic, or epic, or any other kind of story. But... it is my story. Do you want to hear it? I hope so. I'm heading to the Café Na Rigara for a cheri au lait. If you want to come along, I won't mind. To tell the truth, I'm out of cash…


A Mega Man tribute band, The Protomen, have created a rock opera based around the Mega Man franchise, though it is quite a bit darker than the games.

Anyway, one of the songs in their second act, "The Father of Death," is all about a fellow named Joe who wants to get out of the Wily-controlled town. 'Breaking Out' was a perfect story title.

But what to do it about? The original pieces of ideas included a Keldeo. The Keldeo never made it into this, but the other part, the Chesnaught, did.

I present a new story in the City Chronicles.

BREAKING OUT

The biggest company in the City is called Cityworks Incorporated_._ No one really knows what the Incorporated means. After all, the only place Cityworks Inc operates in is the City. How can something that local be Incorporated? I sure don't know.

Excuse me, please. I often forget to introduce myself. I work for Cityworks Incorporated. My name is Roger. I'm a twenty-one year old Chesnaught. And I'm rather unhappy.

Have you ever heard the song 'Breaking Out?' Oh… sorry about that. I didn't realize that Alex and Bill already started their stories like that. Well, it's still a good way to start.

Anyway, I felt like the narrator in 'Breaking Out.' I wanted to run, far away, out into the Outlands, where Cityworks doesn't exist. I didn't like working for them. But that's behind me now.

Maybe… no. Well… I suppose I could tell you the story of what eventually happened. I know, my tenses are a mess. I'll fix them later.

Do you want to hear? I hope so. I'm heading to the _Café Na Rigara_ for a cheri au lait. If you want to come along, I won't mind. To tell the truth, I'm out of cash…

* * *

I enter the _Café Na Rigara_ and sigh. Thankfully, this sigh is a happy sigh. The one I heaved after leaving work was a sad sigh. The Café has a relaxing atmosphere. Not only that, the regulars are great. Speaking of…

"Roger!" Bill calls from behind the piano. "Good to see you! Davy just brewed up a new batch of cheri au lait."

I lick my lips in anticipation. Stepping over Davy's child, I sit heavily in one of the bar seats. John turns to me. He's cleaning a glass with a cloth.

"The usual?"

I nod.

"There's also a great club sandwich that Davy's been pushing on the customers. You up for one?" John no longer owns the _Café_, but he works there on a regular basis. If he recommends something, you can be assured that it's good.

"That would be great," I mumble. My lips haven't completely unfrozen yet. John chuckles and, using the glass he just cleaned, serves a foaming cheri au lait with a sprinkling of chali. He hands it to me and I just hold it, letting the warmth soak into my system.

"Estelle! One king club _cordette_ sandwich for Roger!" John shouts. I hear a muffled reply.

"You get it yourself, dear! I'm up to my elbows in mago pulp!"

I chuckle. It still surprises me that Estelle consented to marry John. I would never have predicted that match, but Alex tells me it just happened. I wish I had been at the _Radiant Star_ that night…

John goes into the back and yelps. I take a quick drink of my cheri au lait and lift the bar door. "Need any help?" I ask, entering the back.

Estelle is covered to the shoulders with mago pulp. A lot of it seems new, like John tried to help and failed. Her hair is slightly discolored from the mago juice, and her apron is covered in stains. "Good thing you wore an apron," I remark.

Estelle blows on a strand of hair that's dangling in her face. Her lips are pursed. "Are you going to do anything, Roger? Or do you plan to stand there and make smart comments?"

I shake my head in amusement and take the knife out of Estelle's hand. "I'll wash this, Estelle. Use one of those rags to clean up. Where's John?"

Rolling her eyes, Estelle jerks her head toward the floor. John is laying there, eyes closed.

"I see." As I take the knife to the sink I poke John in the side with my foot. He coughs and sits up.

"I had a dream that my dearest Estelle was being eaten by berries!" he exclaims. I swallow a laugh and, as I wash the knife, Estelle begins berating John. It ends quickly though, since John gets up and hugs Estelle, pulp and all. "I still love you, Estelle."

Estelle stiffens, but relaxes quickly and returns the hug. "I'm glad," she says in amusement. "I would hate it if you didn't love me anymore because berries ate me."

I laugh quietly.

* * *

I've returned to my bar stool. My cheri au lait is ice cold by now, but that's all right. To tell the truth, I don't mind at all.

John, now covered in berry pulp, waltzes out of the back carrying a very large sandwich. My eyes widen. I'm hungry, but I'm not sure I'm _that_ hungry.

"Enjoy hugging Estelle?" I ask as John sets the sandwich in front of me.

"Oh, Roger… Of course," John sighs dreamily. "I love her so very much. She's my light and my angel."

"An angel covered in berry pulp."

John glares at me. "Don't! Just… I'm sorry. You're right. Anyway, yes, I did enjoy giving her a hug. And how are you doing with Kelly?"

"Not so well. I'm far too shy." I pick up the sandwich and take a bite. The taste awakens a slumbering hunger. I don't think I'll have trouble finishing this sandwich.

John shoots me a skeptical glance, but doesn't bring up the subject again. He switches to a new topic. "Now, tell me about what went wrong at work. Your eyes say something happened."

I shoot a look at John. "What makes you think that?" I ask.

"Your forehead is wrinkled slightly, and you heaved a sigh of relief when you came in," John explains. "Something happened. Plus, you're still a bit tense."

Sighing, I put down the sandwich. "Jude wants us to work on a new 'look' for the City." I snort in derision. "How can we put a new look on the City? It doesn't have a 'look' as it is."

"Maybe Jude just wants a cohesive feel for the City," John suggests. "I know that the transition between the Business District and the Industrial District is, to say the least, jarring."

"Honestly, I have no idea what that crazy Trevenant wants," I say. "The way he described it was as a new style. He explained it as 'normalizing architecture and smoothing the jagged lines.' Those are his exact words."

John's forehead wrinkled. "That doesn't make any sense. How do you normalize architecture? Rutger builds things the way his clients want them."

I shrug. "Beats me. I don't think anyone else knows, either. Jude probably doesn't know. His secretary is telling us to just hold on, but I'm running out of steam." I sigh again. "If I were being honest, I'd tell you that I want a new job."

I take another bite of my sandwich as John nods slowly. He waves a hand, trying to attract someone's attention. Evidently it works, as Bill sits down on the stool next to me.

"Bill, wasn't the Industrial District School looking for a new teacher?" John asks, picking up a dirty glass. Bill closes his eyes briefly.

"That's right. I remember seeing a flyer on a streetlight. What was the position for?"

"I don't know. All I know is that Roger wants a new job."

I look up indignantly. "That was privileged information, John! I don't want the whole world knowing that I secretly want a new job!"

Bill gives me an amused look. "You're doing a fine job of letting the world know, Roger. But I'm pretty sure that the rest of the employees under Jude want to get out, so you're in good company."

I take a sip of my cold cheri au lait. "I don't even know how to teach," I argue. I'm not sure why I'm arguing. Bill and John are offering me a chance to get out of Cityworks. I don't know why I'm not jumping at the opportunity.

"Dear, what was the position at the Industrial District School for?" John asks as Estelle comes out from the back, no berry pulp covering her.

"History and geography teacher," she replies. "I hear Art is switching to be the science teacher. Good thing for him, too. That Xatu has a better head for science than for history and geography."

"There you go," John says, turning back to me. "Thanks, dear." Estelle gives a vague wave.

"I don't know enough. But… do you have one of the flyers?" John comes out from behind the bar and walks outside.

Bill slips off of his stool and behind the bar. He takes a knife and a hondew berry and slices it up, placing the slices in a nearby bowl. John isn't back in yet, and Bill shoots his shadow furtive glances while rummaging through the stock. I roll my eyes as Bill makes a silent gesture of triumph. He upends a bottle of honey over the hondew slices, replaces the bottle, and slips back out from behind the bar and into his stool.

"Want a honey slice, John?" Bill holds the bowl out to John as he comes back into the Café.

John shakes his head absentmindedly. "No thanks."

Bill offers the bowl to me, and I take one, simply to humor him. He narrows his eyes, seeing that I don't really want one, and takes the slice back and pops it in his mouth.

"Here's the flyer," John says, handing it to me. "I know you may not have experience teaching, but it might be something to try."

_Teacher Needed at Industrial District School,_ the flyer proclaims. _Subjects: History, Geography, Mathematics. No experience necessary._

I wrinkle my forehead. I may have worked with history and geography, but my current job requires math. High level math, at that. I can teach kids…

"Does someone know how to get to the school?" I ask.

Bill swallows his mouthful of honeyed hondew berry and gives me the directions.

* * *

Crossing Fourth, I came to Freedom and the Industrial District School. I am immediately struck by the run-down state of the school.

Some of the walls look like a claw took the liberty of scratching them. Other walls are stained almost black with dirt and smoke. The grass is weathered and scraggly, and the sidewalks are mismatched and uneven. The school almost feels like a ruin.

A little idea begins to percolate, but as of yet I cannot quite understand what it is. I push it to the back of my mind and walk up the path to the school. As I reach for the doorknob, it turns of its own accord and the door bursts open, bringing with it a mass of youth.

"Sorry, mister!"

"Watch out!"

"Ack! Who has my backpack?"

The mass dissipates as the youth all run in different directions. Some of them start kicking a large paper ball that seems quite solid. Others sit against walls and pull out books. Still others begin a game of one two pickle. I feel a smile form slowly while watching these children.

What is it about these children? How can they have such enthusiasm when all that they have is a ragged school and futures in dull business?

I shake my head as I head inside the school. A Ludicolo brushes past me, muttering. "Stupid tests. Stupid… everything. I need to retire." I watch as the Ludicolo, a female, walks quickly down a hallway.

"I see you met Miss Serena," a gentle male voice says from behind me. I turn to find a Smeargle looking up at me. His fur was somewhat long, creating a scruffy appearance. His left eye had a drop of blue paint underneath it, while his tail and right arm were covered in dried green paint. But his eyes are full of wisdom and understanding, and I instantly want to work with this Smeargle.

"Is that who the Ludicolo was?" I ask. "She seems… tense."

The Smeargle laughs quietly. "She is. Are you here to apply for the teaching job?"

"I am. I was hoping to find whoever I needed to talk to," I say. The Smeargle spins and gestures to me with his tail. I follow, hoping this fellow is taking me to the principal.

He turns into an open doorway. The room is an art room, covered in easels, canvases, paint brushes, and paints. Grabbing a stool, he points to another stool and sits down. I sit.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Riley. I am the principal of the school," the Smeargle says. My eyes widen, and Riley chuckles. "I will admit, most do not expect the principal to be a Pokemon like me."

"I'm sorry," I respond, but Riley waves away the apology.

"That's not necessary. I am used to it. But, if it will help you, all is forgiven." Riley pauses for a moment. He gets off of his stool, walks to a cupboard, opens it, and pulls out a binder. He comes back to the stool, forgetting to close the cupboard. Perhaps, though, he did not forget to close the door. I get the impression that Riley doesn't miss much.

He sits down and flips through the binder, stopping on a page covered in scribbles. "Before we begin, may I have your name?"

"Roger," I reply.

"And where do you currently work, if anywhere?"

"Cityworks Incorporated." At this Riley looks up at me.

"Why are you applying for this position?" Riley's question seems more eager than the previous ones.

I look around the room. Why am I applying? John and Bill suggested it. Why did I come? I can't tell. A vague pushing in my chest. That wasn't something I can say, though. As I search for a reason, I remember my feelings when I saw the school and the children.

"I don't like my job at Cityworks," I say, leaning forward. "I was at the Café Na Rigara. Two of my friends suggested this job."

Riley closes the binder. He looks resigned. As he opens his mouth, I quickly resume my explanation.

"As I came up the path to the school, I saw the state of the building. When the children came running out, I felt an instant love toward the children. I watched them play and study. I wondered how they could stay hopeful when all they had to look forward to was a dull life in business."

I smile. The idea is forming even as I speak. "I wondered how they could stay hopeful with a derelict building."

Riley tilts his head ever so slightly. "And what conclusion did you come to?"

"I finally realized that they had a wonderful innocence. This innocence was a childlike optimism that would not be quashed by the shadows of life." I stopped for a moment. The idea was finalizing itself. "I saw that they needed someone who would help them keep that optimism and find greater things in life."

"What are you trying to tell me, Mister Roger?"

My smile broadens. "I'm trying to tell you that I am applying to give these children a better future."

Putting the binder down, Riley nods in satisfaction. "That is an excellent reason, Mister Roger."

"Please, sir. Just 'Roger.'"

"Then I insist upon 'Riley,' not 'sir.' Now, do you have experience with history, geography, and math?"

* * *

After a very quick interview, Riley stands. He takes my hand and shakes it. "Welcome to the team, Roger. If you can put your Cityworks job in order by next Monday, you can start then."

I remain seated. "Riley? May I ask you a question?"

Riley sits down again. "Please do. What is it?"

"Is there anything we can do to fix the school up?" The idea has finally coalesced.

Riley shakes his head sadly. "There are no funds," he says. "I have spoken to Mayor Winston about it. He has told me that a refurbishment is low on the list of priorities. He would like to clean up the rubble around the Industrial District first. Many have sustained injuries from the rubble, including his daughter, and he would like to get that hazard eliminated."

I rub my chin. "Then there are no City funds? What if it were to be funded by another group?"

"Then it could be done. But, as far as I am aware, there are no groups that will donate the money for refurbishment." Riley leans forward and pats me on the shoulder. "It is a good idea, though."

"I think I may be able to help you, Riley. The group I work for in Cityworks wants to give the City a new feel. If I can convince them that fixing the school will be part of that new feel, then there will be more than enough funds."

Riley's eyes widen.

* * *

The next day at work, Jude calls a meeting. Unlike other meetings, I'm looking forward to this one. As usual, we sit around a large table. In the center of the table is a bowl of hard candies. I take one and begin to suck on it. The others look at me strangely. No one ever eats Jude's candies.

Jude comes in, limping on his crooked root. He goes to the front of the room and launches right into business.

"Well, see, we haven't figured out a new feel for the City," he says. "Well, we'll need to do that soon if, you see, we wish to accomplish this project. Has anyone come up with an idea?"

I raise my hand. The others have begun to look at me as though I am from the deepest part of the forest. Jude nods to me, and I stand.

"Yesterday I went to the Industrial District School to apply for a new job," I begin. "When I arrived, I was struck by the state of the school. The school is in desperate need of repairs. The grass is worn and patchy, some of the walls have plaster gouged out, and other walls are blackened by the dirt and smoke in the air of the Industrial District.

"I had arrived at the perfect time," I continue, noticing that the other employees are listening with interest. Jude was nodding in thought. "School had just been dismissed for the day, and as the children poured out, I noticed that, despite the raggedness of their surroundings, they were happy. They were happy and optimistic about life. I saw a group playing soccer with a ball made of paper.

"These children deserve more than a run-down schoolhouse. They deserve more than a heap. These children are our future.

"I propose," I say, putting my hands on the table, "that we fix the school. Then, after that, we can work on the other run-down buildings in the City. This will give the City a new feel, without having to remake buildings into a standard architectural style. If we give the school a new lease on life, we give the children hope," I conclude.

Jude is tapping his mouth with a branch. "Well, how do you suggest we do this, Roger?"

I point to Jude. "That is a great question." Reaching into a bag that I brought with me, I pull out a piece of paper. "I wish to resign from my current job and reapply as the contract coordinator of the refurbishing project. I have been hired as a teacher at the Industrial District School. If this project were to go ahead, I would be in the perfect position to direct the work."

"Just a contract employee? That will mean, well, that you will no longer work for Cityworks once the project is complete," Jude says, a bit startled.

"That is what I want," I reply. "I would prefer to teach at the school than work for Cityworks."

Jude rubs his face. His eyes are closed, and I wonder what will happen. "Even if I am not accepted as a contract employee, I will still be resigning," I finish.

Kelly, the Greninja secretary, is busily writing. She finishes and taps Jude on the shoulder. Jude opens his eyes and looks over the paper. He nods.

"Roger, Kelly has run the numbers and, well, this project is feasible. I will approve it." He pauses and looks at me. "Are you, well, sure that you want to quit?"

"I am."

Jude rubs his face again. "Well, I'm not sure how I'll explain this to the head… That doesn't matter, though. Roger, welcome aboard as a, well, a contract employee."

A large smile spreads across my face. "Thank you, Jude. I promise you that you will not regret this course of action."

"Well, I hope that I won't."

* * *

As the meeting finishes, I wait behind. Kelly is packing up her papers and pencils. I slowly approach her, trying to gather courage.

She looks up. "Can I do something for you, Roger?"

My tongue is tied, but somehow I manage to spit the words out. "Would you… um… would you like to go to dinner with me tomorrow night? I hear that the _Radiant Star _has an unbeatable mago berry soufflé."

To my astonishment, Kelly bats her eyelashes at me. "Well, I do like mago soufflé," she says. Smiling, she nods. "I would love that, Roger."

"Tomorrow?"

She laughs. "Yes, tomorrow."

I leave with bells ringing in my ears.

* * *

"Are you from the second shift?" I ask a Floatzel. He nods. "They're meeting down the hall in room 20A." The Floatzel thanks me and leaves.

"Roger, what was that about?" a small Bunnelby asks.

"Today's second shift of workers is gathering," I respond. "Now, everyone please take out your history books. Today we're going to learn about the Thirty-Age!" A chorus of groans meets my remark. "Hey," I say, looking around the room. "Don't you remember when we learned about the Twenty-Age? You all enjoyed that! Just remember that while we learn about the Thirty-Age."

I turn to a large chalkboard and begin to write on it. As I write, I think back on all that has happened.

After approving the idea, Jude was able to quickly get all of the necessary permits for what has come to be known as the 'Hope Project.' He sent the workers right away.

I took the teaching position and, after a few mistakes, came to really enjoy the job. The children still occasionally call me 'Mister Roger,' but that's become very rare.

The day after the fateful meeting, I took Kelly to dinner at the _Radiant Star_. We ordered the mago soufflé. That date led to another, which led to another, making three altogether since that meeting. We have one tonight, this time at the _Café Na Rigara_. If it goes well, I plan to talk about marriage with her. Yes, I love her. I always have.

I don't want to run away to the Outlands anymore. I don't want to break out. If I'm being honest with myself…

I'm happy now.


End file.
